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NANO 2015

novemberNo shadow

No stars

No moon

No cars

November

It only believes

In a pile of dead leaves

And a moon

That’s the color of bone 


Writing has been hard.  I sometimes stare and count cursor blinks. The inspiration is there, in pan flashes and spotlight dances, then it is gone, and I’m hollow and can’t bring myself to get past fragments – shards of stories or splinters of people.


That is why I am going to try to do Nanowrimo.  A huge external force pressing down on my desire to flit away from the process.


It will probably kill me, but I’ll die writing.




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Steam Escaping!
delascabezas
The Son of the last of a long line of thinkers.
delascabezas.com

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